


Of a clarinet and a violin

by ca_te



Category: Nabari no Ou
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ca_te/pseuds/ca_te
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written on 13 May 2009.Written for the 30_kisses comm at Lj. Written in 1st person from Miharu's POV, set early in the manga, just after Miharu has met Yoite. Thanks to Kispexi2 for the beta.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Of a clarinet and a violin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sute_Hikahika](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sute_Hikahika).



> Written on 13 May 2009.Written for the 30_kisses comm at Lj. Written in 1st person from Miharu's POV, set early in the manga, just after Miharu has met Yoite. Thanks to Kispexi2 for the beta.

They taught me at school that some materials react with others. I have seen it in physics lab; it's like a current passing through and between them. Sometimes they jolt.

When I saw that, I thought that I didn't want anything to react with me. It was better to be alone, everything was more calm, as in a vacuum.

 

I've always had this habit of looking out of the window, at school, while studying, while eating. I like it 'cause it makes me feel peaceful. I've learned not to be amazed, not to keep my eyes too wide open.

Still my grandma always says that things come all of sudden, even if you don't want them. Sometimes I think my grandma is right, somehow she always sees right.

 

So something jumped in my life and it resonated with me, so hard it made me jolt.

 

That thing was a person.

 

I said he jumped into my life and it actually went like this.

There were shouting and blood that day and then, just for a second, everything went still and silent. Our gazes met.

I knew he was dangerous, but I remained there, listening to all the things that were resonating inside of me.

My father once let me hear a LP, it was classical music. I clapped my hands while listening; the instruments were like voices, answering to each other.

That day was like listening to that LP again, it was my body answering him.

It's still happening, and I'm trying to get used to it. I wonder if he resonates too…

 

Now I'm sitting in my room. It's Sunday morning, and outside everything is silent. It makes me think of cotton wool. A thick layer of cotton wool.

I watch Shijima stretching her back on the tree in front of the window.

I look back at my notebook. Black letters are all over the pages.

I've never seen Yoite's handwriting.

I wonder what it is like. I wonder if he has even gone to school.

I watch as the ink forms letter on the page, my nose is almost touching the paper. Grandma always says I shouldn't do this.

I stop 'cause there's this tickling feeling at the back of my head.

\- Good morning.

The voice is calm and almost soft, if voices could have a colour this would be café latte coloured.

And then I start resonating again. As I turn my heart is beating faster, it hits my ribcage like a ball hits the floor, and something starts to fly around in my stomach.

My eyes are a bit out of focus as I look at his chest. He is tall, and thin, almost like a black bookmark.

\- Good morning Yoite.

He leans over my shoulder and I notice that his cheeks are a bit flushed. His coat must be really heavy. I get up and point him to the chair. He looks at me with those eyes of his, and my breath trembles somewhere inside of me.

\- I don't need to sit.

He's so stubborn. I take his hand and force him down. He remains silent.

\- Can I finish my homework? Then we will go.

He nods, I take my pen and continue writing, standing at his side. From the corner of my eye I watch him taking off his hat, my hand still writing. His hair is black, it makes me think of ink and ravens.

Grandma once told me about ravens living in the spots of the sun; I watched the sun till my eyes hurt every day for an entire week.

I would continue to watch him even if it made my eyes hurt.

\- Miharu..

\- Yes, Yoite?

-You're writing on the desk.

I feel my cheeks become hotter. I look down, there are black lines over the wood. I remain silent.

Then I feel his fingers over mine. And it's like my cells, the atoms which build me, begin to dance and tremble and run. I feel my breath hitch and my legs become more like jelly.

He takes the pen between his hands.

\- D-Do you know how to write?

I bite my lip 'cause it's really a silly question.

He looks at me, and smiles. He smiles and all the world becomes made of cotton wool, the sky, the air, the furniture. We are like little sketches on a sea of cotton wool. He presses the pen on the paper, under the last line I wrote.

I follow his fingers till he stops. A "Miharu" is now written on the page.

I lick my lips. His handwriting is precise, it seems perfect to me.

\- Thank you.

He tilts his head to the side. I can feel his fingers touching mine again as he gives the pen back, this time the jolt is bigger and I almost jump.

He lifts his head and our eyes meet. More cotton wool.

He suddenly turns, hands on his knees.

\- Finish your homework.

In silence I continue to write. There's only the sound of the pen on the paper and Yoite's breath; it's deep and I wonder if he has fallen asleep. I close my notebook and lean toward him. His eyes are closed, there are little blue veins crossing over his eyelids. His lips are a bit parted; they are thin and like lines.

For the first time I wish I could kiss him, I wish I could write with my lips over his.

Something shakes my depths as I realize why my body resonates to him like this, why it answer him like the violin answers the clarinet on that old LP.

I slowly bring my index finger to his lips and trace them lightly. They are soft; I wonder if anyone has ever kissed them.

I'm mesmerized by the view of my finger over that pink skin; he's like a porcelain doll.

Then his lips press back as he leaves a kiss on my finger.

It's strange, it's something little, like when someone blows on a wound for you, like when you drink something fresh on a hot day, like when someone takes your hand.

I feel my eyes become watery, I swallow. He gets up.

\- Alright, we're going, Miharu.

And he takes my hand and a quiet, deep jolt runs up and down my body.

 

In this day made of cotton wool, the white of my hand on the brown of his glove is the most natural thing in the world, the sweetest reply of a clarinet to a violin.


End file.
